Empathy
by Rollipop
Summary: "All she needed was a little empathy." How Peeta finished off the girl from District 8. One-shot. T for violence and character death.


**A/N: **This is my first fic ever. I'm completely open to con-crit and I apologize in advance for any first-timer mistakes. Some things may have changed slightly to fit the story, but nothing too major.

When I first read The Hunger Games, I thought, would Peeta really go back and kill the girl from District 8 in some painful way? It just seems very unlike his character to do that. I made this based on what I think may have happened when Cato sent Peeta back to finish off the girl tribute from District 8.

**Disclaimer: **SC owns everything.

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><p>Whether Jetta wants to admit it or not, she, the 15-year-old female tribute from District 8 is dying. She can't deny the pain in her abdomen where Cato's knife had found a home. She can't deny the fact that blood is pouring down her sides and onto the forest floor where she lay. And, it hurts, oh it <em>hurts<em>. This girl who has never felt more pain than hunger, cramped hands, and pricked fingers from working the sewing machines too long, training to spend her life making Peacekeeper uniforms, was stabbed. And now she can feel the signals from nerve endings in her muscle and skin and whatever organ Cato pierced burning through to her brain.

She can't help but scream.

The sounds of her screams are shrill; enough for anybody watching the scene to slightly shudder no matter how bloodthirsty they are, even if it's just from the high pitch of her shrieking. The unseen girl tribute resting in a willow nearby has to cover her ears to block out Jetta's high cries of pain. The careers hear, too, and just shrug off their slight discomfort and laugh amongst themselves.

And it's quite odd, in a way. Jetta was silent just a few minutes before her attackers - the _careers_ - had found her while she was dozed off near a burning fire. She should've _known_ better than to think she could sleep oh-so-peacefully in the arena, especially since she was in the games, those horrible, torturous games that she knew would ultimately end in her death.

Now she's dying in a strange place that feels anything peaceful. After several agonizing minutes, she finally stops screaming. Now her vocal cords are too strained to even let out the tiniest whimper. To replace her shrieking, she lets out a few sobs. She feels the life draining out of her from the gash in her stomach.

_ Why am I not dead yet?_ She wonders. _It's obvious that I wasn't supposed to win these games, so why can't I just be dead yet?_

Her chest stops heaving with sobs. She's silent now. Not dead, not sleeping, not passed out, although she would very much like to be... Just listening. Existing. She closes her eyes and focuses on hearing, and detects the crackling of her fire's coals nearby.

_ So stupid. _

_ Should've known better than to let that happen. _

_ Shouldn't have lit that__ fire. _

_ I just wanted to be warm, feel flames. _

_ Flames. Fire. The girl on fire. I wonder if she's still alive, _she wonders absently.

She feels delirium cloud her brain. Her eyes are dried out, and she's teetering on the edge of sleep or whatever is threatening to pull her from consciousness. The pain in her abdomen is still there, still sharp and intense, yet she's too dazed to feel it in its full power. She decides to just stare upwards at the clear, cold sky. Unlike the sky clouded over with an industrial haze back in District 8 which feels much too distant now, the arena's sky is crystal clear and she finally takes note of the twinkling stars. The stars may or may not be another one of the Capitol's illusions or an illusion from her tripping brain. Still, she's mesmerized by the scene that floats before her weary eyes. Anything to distract from the pain. Anything to distract her from her inevitable fate.

Jetta remains this way. Staring blankly at the sky, thoughts dull, life flowing out of the space on her stomach while she takes in shallow, uneven breaths. What else is there to do at a moment like this? Until she hears the sound of leaves crunching underneath an approaching tribute's feet.

She sees the boy approach her and her heart flutters like a butterfly trapped in a spider web. A few agonizing seconds later, he's standing by her side. He's blond, built, tall, and studying the girl on the ground in front of his feet. She looks in his eyes, and through the dim light of a dying fire a few feet away from her, she recognizes him. Peeta. Star-crossed lover from District 12. Utterly charming during the interviews. So far, a survivor. Part of the group of careers that brought her to her knees in a bloody clash just minutes before.

"Please... No..." Jetta's voice is barely above a whisper. A surge of fresh pain washes over her. A gurgled cry comes out from her dry lips.

Peeta steps closer to her. He's not looking at her with a murderous blood lust like the others had. Instead, he looks almost sympathetic, and slightly guilty as he kneels next to the girl who is now slightly shaking. She takes notice of a clean knife attached to his belt, as well as a small neon yellow pouch. But it's mostly the sight of the knife that makes her find the ability to speak again.

It's now when Jetta starts begging for the second time on the first night of the Hunger Games.

"No! Please! I don't even want to win! Please!" She chokes on words that feel like smoke coming out of her raw vocal cords. "I'm going to bleed out soon, I swear! I never wanted to be here!"

Peeta sighs, looking pained before hardening his expression. He knows the other Careers are just a few yards away, discussing their next plan of action. "Scream and I'll be fast," he says.

Not questioning the odd request, Jetta screams. The pain in her throat burns brutally, but now she'll take anything to disable her senses.

A sound of a zipper being undone. A small vial of a clear liquid is taken from a neon yellow pouch and the lid is unscrewed. A heavy almost chlorine-like scent saturates the air. Jetta smells it and identifies it. CT-938. Capitol poison, used in her district to keep animals and bugs from eating materials used for the manufacturing of Peacekeeper uniforms. She ceases her cries and scrunches up her face in response to the strong smell of a deadly chemical.

She feels a burn on the inside of her skin as Peeta pours the vial of CT-938 into her still bleeding gash.

_ Death by a fancy Capitol rat poison, _she thinks a little bitterly. _Of course they'd kill us off with something meant for rats. _

She doesn't blame Peeta. His gentleness in assisting her death does not convey cruelty like the other Careers. To Jetta, it seems that Peeta's just trying to survive instead of murder. In fact, Jetta tries to let out a tiny "thank you" for putting her out of her misery. Peeta hears it and simply nods in acknowledgment.

Her eyes flutter shut, and she can feel herself slipping into a comfortable darkness. But wait, is that a hand she feels gently petting her forehead and messy blond hair? Is that somebody's calloused hand holding her limp one? She isn't too sure. Nothing feels real now. The only thing that does is the burn of CT-938 that managed to not bleed out coursing through her veins.

Peeta sighs, uncurling his fingers from Jetta's hand and reaches for the knife in his belt. He's almost positive that she won't feel it due to the poison, and if she does, well, it will only be for less than a second. With shaking fingers, he hovers the blade over the left side of her chest before plunging it in. After all, Peeta has to have some kind of physical proof to show Cato that he did what he was sent to do. A millisecond before the knife is in her heart, a rumbling cannon fire sounds.

Jetta doesn't feel it. The poison has already done its job the second that the cannon goes off. And yet, the situation almost feels right in its own twisted way. Because, even though she's in the Hunger Games, even though her very existence is dissolved by that Capitol poison that blond boy, the now infamous star-crossed lover from District 12, put into her, she finds peace. All she needed was a little empathy.

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><p><strong>AN:** Well, how did I do? Reviews are greatly appreciated.

**Edit:** Fixed some grammatical errors. Thanks Project Aether!


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